


Sherlock: Pale Blue On Hazel

by IBegToDreamAndDiffer



Series: Sherlock: Colours [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, M/M, Mild Language, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-23
Updated: 2012-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:04:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBegToDreamAndDiffer/pseuds/IBegToDreamAndDiffer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are sleeping together and John wants to reverse their roles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock: Pale Blue On Hazel

**Author's Note:**

> Ownership: Original characters are owned by Arthur Conan Doyle, these versions are owned by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. I just get to play.

_John grinned and leaned up to kiss Sherlock. God he loved this man so much. Sherlock was just so... Sherlock. He was a genius, a child, a border-line sociopath, an ex-junkie, a lover of danger and death, a serious tantrum thrower, and above all, a good man. And his body? Sexy!_

 _‘What was that for?’ Sherlock asked._

 _John grinned and leaned into him, sighing when Sherlock wrapped his long arms around his shoulders. ‘Just for being you,’ he said. ‘Sherlock, last night was great and... I really love you, ’kay?’_

 _Sherlock smiled and said, ‘John?’_

 _‘Mm?’_

 _‘I like lavender.’_

 _John chuckled._

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

John yawned and rolled over to find himself face-to-face with Sherlock Holmes. Well, face-to-face with the lower half of Sherlock Holmes. John grinned and rubbed his face into Sherlock’s back, just above his arse.

He had such a cute arse and John couldn’t help but admire it any chance he got. There was more than one occasion of DI Lestrade tutting and rolling his eyes as he caught John ogling the consulting detective. John couldn’t help it. Sherlock was sexy and _his_.

Sherlock had taken to calling him _His John,_ or _My John,_ or, _If Anyone Touches You I will Kill Them Because You Are Mine._ The latter had gotten them a lot of curious stares because Sherlock had decided to say it while waiting for the tube... surrounded by people... while grabbing John’s arse. Half sweet, half bloody embarrassing.

Sherlock hadn’t woken and John took his time to run his cheek along Sherlock’s pale skin. There was nothing he loved more than just lying in bed with Sherlock and enjoying his company. When Sherlock was working a case he never slept, never ate, never kissed John. John had learned to love these fleeting moments.

They’d been having sex for the past three months. Every night at first, until both realised they couldn’t keep that up. It had fallen to at least once or twice a week, normally in John’s room as it was furthest away from Mrs Hudson. They did _not_ need her knowing what they were doing. Having Mycroft Holmes and DI Lestrade know was enough.

The latter had walked in on them just over a week after their first time together. John had grown accustomed to slipping into Sherlock, to holding down the taller man’s arms so he could barely touch himself. Sherlock liked that John controlled the situation, the pleasure, everything.

DI Lestrade had shouted, stepped back, yelled ‘God!’ and proceeded to laugh and ask, ‘So you don’t want the case?’

‘Later!’ Sherlock had shouted upside down from his position on the couch. John just stared mutely, red-faced, as Lestrade backed out of the flat. ‘John?’ Sherlock asked, tilting his head right-way up to look at his boyfriend.

‘Er...’

Sherlock just smiled. ‘Take your time,’ he said and proceeded to count all the freckles on John’s torso and then touch them... with his tongue.

John got over his embarrassment fairly quickly after that.

Sherlock still hadn’t... taken John, not yet. While John was more than comfortable having sex with Sherlock, he wasn’t comfortable with it being the other way around. He didn’t know why exactly.

Maybe it was the fear of pain, or the fear of having another man do that to him, or the fear of giving himself so completely to Sherlock. Sherlock hadn’t mentioned it since before they’d started having sex. He was completely fine with having John fuck him once a week and screamed it whenever John did. If he wanted John that way he hadn’t voiced it.

But John could tell he wanted to. He saw the way Sherlock’s eyes searched his body, the way the taller man looked at his arse. John very badly wanted to give himself to Sherlock but... he couldn’t, not yet.

‘John?’

Lost in thought, John hadn’t realised that Sherlock was awake. He turned slowly as John pulled himself up the bed. He didn’t want to get slapped now, did he? Especially when he had to get to work at nine.

‘Sorry, didn’t know you were up,’ John said.

Sherlock smiled and shimmied down so he was looking John in the eye. John had such lovely hazel eyes; mostly a dark green with little flecks of brown.

‘Good morning,’ Sherlock said and kissed John slowly.

‘Morning,’ John replied, resting his forehead against his boyfriend’s.

‘I don’t want you to go to work.’

‘I don’t want to go,’ John said, ‘but I have to.’

‘Why?’ Sherlock demanded.

John smiled. ‘We need money, Sherlock. You absolutely refuse to get paid for cases outside the ones Lestrade gives you. And we need to pay the bills, and get groceries.’

‘But I hardly eat.’

‘I _do_ ,’ John said, ‘and you should eat more.’

‘No.’

‘Sherlock, come have breakfast with me,’ John said and dragged himself from bed. He stood in the doorway wearing only pyjama pants. ‘Please?’

Sherlock shook his head, folded his arms.

John quickly dropped his pants and stepped out of them, smiling as Sherlock’s eyes went wide. ‘I’m eating naked. You are perfectly welcome to join me.’

He stepped from the room and got to the bottom of the stairs when he heard Sherlock climb out of bed and rush after him.

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

John found his thoughts drifting more and more to sex that week. In-between patients, cases, shopping, and snuggling with Sherlock on the couch, John found it more interesting to wonder about what Sherlock... fucking him would feel like.

The thought sent little shivers of pleasure down to John’s crotch and he had to sit down often. Though the fear was still there, the uncertainty, John was growing more comfortable with the thought.

Sherlock was sweet and gentle when they had sex and John knew he’d help him through it. Sherlock would never hurt John, not intentionally. And while John knew that his first time would be painful, he also knew that the pleasure would soon outweigh it.

With that in mind, he began to fantasise about what Sherlock would do.

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

Sherlock was being condescending, like usual, and John sighed. He leaned against the doorframe of Lestrade’s office and watched as the two went head to head; Sherlock teasing, Greg teasing right back.

No other DI could handle Sherlock Holmes, other than Dimmock, and he was too new to put up with Sherlock’s remarks. And now that Lestrade was dating Mycroft Holmes Sherlock found endless joy in teasing the older man about it.

‘Mycroft is fat, Lestrade, surely you would suffocate.’

Lestrade glared at him. ‘He is _not_ fat!’ And he wasn’t, he was almost as thin as Sherlock himself.

Sherlock smirked and Greg continued.

‘At least he’s got _something,_ Sherlock. I feel sorry for John; you’re like a bony insect wrapped in pale skin.’

What followed was more teasing that was getting ever more hurtful and John sighed. ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ he muttered, not that either man heard him.

He stepped into a cubicle and locked the door, sitting on the toilet to rub his eyes. He just needed a moment away from the men. Mycroft Holmes had turned up earlier that day and poked fun at Sherlock for... something. It was the only reason Sherlock was bringing him up now.

John leaned back and yawned, thinking about Sherlock and his bloody brother. Soon his thoughts had drifted directly to Sherlock, to the trousers he was wearing today, and that bloody purple shirt that he now seemed to have ten of. He thought about the silk against his skin, the warm stomach beneath, the trail of hair leading down to his crotch...

John’s eyes flew open once he imagined Sherlock touching his arse, rubbing at his entrance, _pushing_ in. No matter where John went it seemed those fantasies chased him. He felt his cock began to go hard.

 _No, no, not now, not here_ , he thought angrily as his jeans grew tighter. His thoughts did nothing as his imagination conjured up images of Sherlock’s cock poking at him, a thrill of fear and pleasure shooting through his body.

He reached down to touch himself softly and moaned. That was definitely not a good idea because now John couldn’t stop. He rubbed himself again and soon had his jeans open. He pulled his cock out and stroked softly, cursing his mind. Damn his bloody brain for its imagination. He was a grown man for god’s sake; he should not be wanking in a toilet in New Scotland Yard.

John stroked softly, squeezing when he got to the head. He bit his lip to stop moaning, his foot jerking against the cubical wall.

There was a knock on the door and John gasped.

‘ _John? Are you in there_?’

‘Y-yes,’ John managed, recognising Sherlock’s voice. ‘I’m fine.’

‘ _Are you sure?_ ’

John began stroking harder at the sound of Sherlock, so close yet so far away. ‘F-fine.’

There was silence and then Sherlock’s voice was closer.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

John gasped and looked up. Sherlock was leaning over the top of the next cubical, clearly standing on the toilet.

‘Shit,’ John muttered and dropped himself.

‘I didn’t say stop,’ Sherlock smirked as John turned red. It wasn’t the first time either had caught the other masturbating. But it was the first time in public...

‘Open the door,’ Sherlock said and disappeared.

John did and in seconds Sherlock was with him, locking the door and pushing John to sit on the toilet.

‘What are you doing?’ John demanded.

Sherlock dropped to his knees and grabbed John’s cock. He slipped it into his mouth and sucked hard, making John shift. His back pressed into the toilet and he whimpered softly, covering his mouth to stay quiet.

After a minute of sucking and licking, Sherlock stood and began undoing his belt.

‘What are you doing?’ John whispered again.

Sherlock just smirked as he dropped his trousers and underwear. He turned his back to John and stepped back so he could grab John’s cock. John groaned softly as Sherlock eased his cock into his arse.

‘Fuck,’ John gasped, grabbing Sherlock’s hips.

‘Quiet, John,’ Sherlock moaned, eyes squeezed shut. He began moving up and down, enjoying the danger and hotness of John Watson fucking him in public. Both men had to cover their mouths to stop the screams but a few whimpers got out. If anybody entered the bathroom they’d know exactly what Sherlock and John were doing.

John’s hands gripped Sherlock’s hips tightly as he came, stifling a scream and bruising his lips. He gasped and leaned against Sherlock, hearing his boyfriend moan as he orgasmed. They sat there shaking, John holding Sherlock and breathing heavily.

Sherlock stood and turned to grab the toilet paper. He cleaned them both up and Sherlock kissed John before doing his pants up.

‘Thank you.’

‘Er... you’re welcome?’ John managed.

Sherlock smiled. ‘Why were you masturbating in the bathroom?’

‘Jeez, Sherlock, say it louder,’ John muttered. He sighed and said, ‘I was thinking about you... taking me.’

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’

He smiled. ‘Would you like to have dinner tonight, John?’

John grinned and nodded. They shared another kiss before John flushed the toilet and they exited the cubical...

...only to run into DI Lestrade, who was washing his hands.

He smirked and turned to face them. ‘Hello, there. I wasn’t aware the Yard had installed double toilets.’

John blushed furiously at the realisation that Lestrade must have heard the end of their little... meeting. He felt ready to absolutely die and covered his face, groaning.

Sherlock just smiled, seemingly at ease in any situation. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t fondled my brother in his office.’

Greg grimaced. ‘Please don’t say fondle, Sherlock, it’s disturbing.’

Sherlock just stiffened before storming out of the bathroom. Greg turned his eyes on John.

‘The bathroom, really?’

John burned brighter and made a hasty exit, Lestrade laughing.

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

John decided to ask Greg about the whole wanting Sherlock to fuck him thing so the next night he went back to the Yard, minus Sherlock. He knew Greg was in, had texted him earlier to ask if he wanted to go out for a beer. He knew the DI finished at six and it was half to.

John actually got a lot of greetings and smiles as he walked through the building, something that didn’t happen when Sherlock was around. John figured it was because he didn’t shout who was having an affair with whom and who was doing it in the storage closets with dinosaur costumes (John would never get that mental image out of his mind).

He smiled at Sally Donovan as he knocked softly and entered Greg’s office.

‘Hey, Greg, I thought I’d swing by early and – oh _god_!’ John broke off mid sentence and his eyes went wide. Greg and Mycroft were practically melded together– their lips, chests, hips, everything! The worst part (well, not really, because despite what Sherlock said Mycroft was quite fit and John couldn’t help but admire the man’s physique) was that Mycroft had his shirt off and Lestrade had been in the process of unzipping the man’s pants.

Mycroft quickly slipped off the table and smoothed himself down as Greg buttoned up his shirt.

‘Er, John, hi,’ he said awkwardly and smiled. He’d got his shirt done up and was standing before Mycroft, probably trying to hide him from view. It’s not like John was purposefully looking at the older Holmes, but it’s hard to look away when a man as controlling and posh as Mycroft Holmes is half naked and panting from making out.

‘Yeah, um, that’s... fine,’ John said, turning pink. ‘I just wanted to see if you... erm... a pint. But you’re busy and so–’

‘Not to worry, Dr Watson,’ Mycroft said smoothly, back to his usual uptight self. ‘I have an important meeting to get to; I was just hoping to have a few minutes alone with my boyfriend. However, seeing how that’s not going to happen, I’ll take my leave.’

He turned and (much to John’s embarrassment) kissed Greg long and hard. Greg gasped into the kiss and his left hand found Mycroft’s hip. Then the elder Holmes was pulling away and Lestrade whined softly.

‘I’ll see you tonight, love,’ Mycroft smiled. He pecked Lestrade quickly on the lips before heading out, giving John a brief nod.

‘Jesus, I’m so sorry,’ John said, blushing again. ‘I had no idea... you should lock your bloody door!’

‘Why don’t you knock?’ Lestrade retorted. He sighed and sunk into the chair behind his desk. ‘No, don’t worry, it’s my bloody fault.’

John smiled hesitantly. ‘Not as embarrassing as being caught in a toilet.’

Lestrade snorted. ‘Yeah, I guess. I just... Mycroft’s been away for a week.’

‘Oh,’ John said, understanding instantly. He knew how he felt every time Sherlock got a case and didn’t touch him for three days. He didn’t know how he’d react if Sherlock went away for a week. ‘Sorry.’

‘No worries,’ Lestrade grunted. He rubbed his eyes and said, ‘I could use a pint; Mycroft’ll probably turn up at my place sooner or later. Come on.’

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

‘So, what’s life thrown at you?’ Lestrade asked once they’d sat down. The two had taken to spending a night or two a week together, complaining about life and the Holmes brothers.

‘Sherlock’s decided that the shower is a good place to store cow organs.’

‘Ah, yeah, well storing them anywhere else is just plain crazy,’ Greg smirked into his beer.

‘I take it yours doesn’t store body parts in the bathroom?’

Greg shrugged. ‘I dunno, we don’t live together. I’ve been to his place but we spent a lot of time... elsewhere.’

John chuckled. ‘I just can’t imagine Mycroft doing anything along those lines... though after today.’ He took a large gulp of beer. ‘I swear, I’m never going to get that image out of my head.’

‘Hey, that’s my boyfriend,’ Greg pointed at him.

‘So you two are calling each other boyfriends now?’

‘We’ve been dating a few months,’ Lestrade said, sipping his drink. ‘Mycroft said he wanted a series relationship after our second date. He said this wasn’t just fooling around. I wanted something more too and here we are.’

‘So you two are good?’

‘Yeah, very good. We’ve fought a bit, mostly about his bloody inability to eat properly. I swear, he’s as thin as a rake but insists he needs to be on a diet. If Sherlock ever calls him fat in front of me I’ll punch him in the face.’

‘Hey, that’s my boyfriend,’ John said and the two laughed.

‘So, have you and Sherlock...’ Lestrade trailed off and looked pointedly at him. He knew the answer, had caught Sherlock and John at it, but wanted to hear the doctor say it himself.

‘Yes, we have,’ John said and was amazed when he didn’t blush. He’d been turning red far too much for his liking.

‘Good?’ Lestrade asked before holding up a finger to get another round. He returned a few minutes later and slid John another beer.

‘Yeah, very good,’ John said. ‘I can’t believe I never tried it before, it’s so different to having sex with a woman.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t know,’ Lestrade smiled.

‘You’ve never had sex with a woman?’

‘Nope.’

‘Why?’

‘Erm, I’m gay,’ Greg said.

John tutted. ‘I know _that_. But most guys try it with a woman first before... you know...’

‘I never did,’ Lestrade said honestly. ‘I dated women before I came out, before I actually realised I was absolutely gay, but I never slept with any. Once I got close but I freaked out when she got naked and took off. Never heard from her again, of course.’

John chuckled and finished the last of his beer before sipping the new one Lestrade had passed him. ‘Well, it’s different. Not that sex with a woman isn’t fun, but Sherlock is... Sherlock.’ He smiled.

With a laugh, Greg said, ‘I just can’t imagine it. He’s so skinny, what’s there to grab?’

‘Plenty,’ John said hotly, quickly rising to Sherlock’s defence, ‘like his hair.’

Greg knew it was a stab at Mycroft’s thinning hair and frowned at him. ‘I’ll bet you anything Mycroft’s more romantic than Sherlock.’

John’s smile fell at that. Sherlock wasn’t the romantic type. They’d had nice dinners, of course, like their first one. But romance definitely wasn’t something Sherlock Holmes excelled at. Usually it was all stumbling into the room and falling over in the heat to get naked.

‘Well, mine doesn’t always dress like a bloody politician,’ John said.

‘Mine _is_ a politician,’ Greg pointed out, ‘and he has a proper job.’

‘Oh yeah?’ John asked and Greg nodded. ‘And what, exactly, _is_ his job?’

Greg had no answer for that. He had absolutely no idea what Mycroft’s actual position was. All he’d heard was ‘a minor position in the British Government’. Greg had taken to thinking that Mycroft was a spook, or the guy who controlled spooks, or the guy who controlled the guys who controlled spooks.

‘At least Sherlock has a job title,’ John said, smirking.

‘He made up his job title.’

‘Still has one.’

‘Well, Mycroft has one too.’

‘And that would be...?’ John prompted.

Greg grinned coyly. ‘Minister Of Sex.’

John choked on his beer and Greg laughed as he patted his back. They chatted about a few mundane things like football, the army, kids these days, and why the Holmes brothers seemed to hate each other. Finally John got around to asking for Greg’s advice... again.

‘Erm, so, you and Mycroft...’

‘Yeah, I thought we’d established that when you rudely interrupted us earlier,’ Greg said, smiling. They’d both had six beers and were feeling relaxed, tipsy, on their way to being drunk; Lestrade more so than John because of the eight year age difference.

John blushed slightly before continuing. ‘Has he... had he ever...?’

As a cop, Greg was good at reading people (not Holmes good but better than your average British citizen) so he finished John’s sentence for him, ‘Had he ever had sex with a man before me?’

John nodded.

‘No. Actually, he’d never had sex with anyone.’

John raised his eyebrows. He briefly wondered what Mycroft Holmes would do to him if he found out Greg had told him something so personal, but pushed it from his mind. He was here to have fun and try to talk to his friend about Sherlock... he didn’t need to imagine what pain Mycroft Holmes would put him through because of what John knew.

‘Don’t tell him I told you,’ Greg said hurriedly, ‘but yeah, he’d never had sex before. We only just started two weeks ago; it took a lot of coaching but after the first time he learned quickly.’ He smiled broadly at that and leaned back in his seat.

‘So you haven’t...’

‘Fucked him? No,’ Greg said, ‘but believe me, he’s fucked–’

‘I get it, Gregory,’ John said quickly and Greg chuckled. He played with his glass as they fell into silence.

‘Mycroft calls me Gregory– no, John, I’m sorry!’ he practically shouted the last part as John got up to leave. ‘Really, sorry, sit down, mate.’

John smiled as he sat. ‘Stop, please stop.’

‘Sorry,’ Greg laughed. ‘I can’t help it. Who else can I talk to about dating a Holmes? People at the Yard wouldn’t understand, him being Sherlock’s brother and all.’

‘Mm, at least they wouldn’t call him “The Freak”,’ John said.

‘I’m sorry she calls him that,’ Greg said, ‘honestly.’

John smiled. ‘Doesn’t matter. Anyway, Sherlock and I have been... you know, about two or three months now, and I think I’m ready to... well, you know.’

‘You never finish your sentences, Johnny,’ Lestrade complained as he went to get more beer. He returned and slopped liquid over the table as he dropped them. ‘Huh. Maybe I should make this my last.’

John giggled stupidly. ‘You think?’

‘You’ve had just as much as me,’ Greg pointed out, ‘and you’re smaller, so it’ll affect you more.’ He drank deeply, beer running down his chin. He wiped it away and grinned.

‘Is that a joke about my height?’ John asked, slurping at his own drink.

Greg leaned forward and looked at John with slightly hazy eyes. ‘Yup.’

‘You’re older than me,’ John pointed out.

‘Which just makes me a better lover,’ Greg said and gulped another quarter of his drink down.

John laughed. He liked drunk Greg; he was much more relaxed than sober Greg... but much dirtier.

‘So you’re ready to let Sherlock...’ he trailed off, knowing John wasn’t comfortable with him stating the obvious.

‘Yeah, I think. Any advice?’

‘Well, just take it slowly. Sherlock will help. He’s a psychopath but I know he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.’

‘Sociopath,’ John corrected. Even he knew that was a lie; Greg did too. Sherlock liked to claim he was a sociopath but he cared about people.

‘Yeah, yeah, just plenty of lube and plenty of condoms. Take it slow.’

John blushed slightly and said, ‘Er, we never really... use... condoms.’

Greg’s eyebrows went up. ‘Seriously?’ he asked and John nodded. ‘Um, you realise he was a junkie, right? I don’t mean to be rude, but junkie’s catch all sorts of things from sharing needles. And when I met Sherlock he was definitely sharing.’

‘We both got tested,’ John said, ‘after the first time. I’m still a doctor, Greg; I might be dating a Holmes but I’m not a complete idiot.’

Greg raised his hands. ‘Right, just checking.’

‘Do you and Mycroft...?’

‘Sometimes,’ Greg said and grinned. ‘But you know how it is.’

‘Oh, yes,’ John said and they shared a laugh. ‘Condoms and lube?’

‘Condoms and lube,’ Greg repeated. ‘And just talk to him, John. Tell him what you want and let him show you what he can do. It’ll be fine.’

‘I hope so,’ John said and took a gulp of his drink.

Lestrade’s mobile started vibrating and he answered with a lop-sided grin. ‘Yes, sweetie?’

John choked on his beer again as Greg continued talking to Mycroft (John could hear the politician’s voice from where he was sitting).

‘No, I’m not drunk.’ Another pause. ‘Just a little tipsy, Myc.’

John snorted again. _Myc, really?_

‘Yah ha, with John, do you wanna say hello?’ He looked up to see John shaking his head quickly. ‘Oh, he’s shaking his head, I don’t think he likes you. That’s rude, Johnathan.’

‘My name isn’t short for Johnathan,’ John said.

‘Really?’ Lestrade question. ‘Huh, how boring. What? No, not you, Mycroft. I was just saying that John’s name is boring.’

John kicked him under the table. ‘Greg’s a boring name too.’

‘Owe!’ Greg complained. ‘Mycroft, he kicked me.’ He frowned slightly. ‘No, I didn’t deserve it... okay, maybe I did. Anyway, where are you?’ A smile lit up his face. ‘Outside, excellent. Coming now, and I’m bringing John.’

He hung up and grabbed his beer, hauling John up with the other hand.

‘Come on, brother.’

‘You’re an idiot drunk,’ John said as they crossed the pub with their beers, drinking quickly.

‘Nah ah,’ Greg said, ‘I’m a _fun_ drunk.’ He downed the rest of his beer and dropped it on a table before heading outside. John put his down and followed.

There was a black car parked just to the right of the pub and Lestrade stumbled to it, followed by a tipsy John Watson. They both fell into the car laughing and the door swung open. Lestrade went in first with John falling in behind him. John snorted when he saw Lestrade sprawled across Mycroft Holmes, kissing him sloppily.

‘Gregory, please,’ Mycroft tutted and slid his boyfriend off his lap.

Lestrade sighed and John giggled, ‘Yeah, Gregory.’

‘Shut it, Johnathan,’ Greg smiled.

‘It’s just John,’ John sighed. ‘Why can’t that be enough?’

‘It’s short, like you,’ Greg laughed.

‘Don’t make me hit you–’

‘ _Again_ ,’ Greg cut him off.

Mycroft’s eyes turned to take in the doctor. ‘You hit him?’

John paled under Mycroft’s grey-blue eyes. ‘He...he hit me first!’

‘You threatened me!’ Greg interjected.

‘You’re a cop and you started it!’

‘Well, you have an illegal firearm.’

‘You’ve been smoking again!’

Greg frowned at him and John smirked. He knew Greg had been trying to quit for years but he, and Sherlock, always ended up smoking around the end of the week. Sherlock thought John hadn’t noticed, but he’d noticed all right.

‘N-no, I didn’t!’ Greg stuttered.

John smiled. ‘Yeah you did.’

Mycroft rolled his eyes. ‘You two are lovely when inebriated. Gregory, I know you’ve been smoking.’ He leaned forward and kissed the DI quickly.

‘You have too!’ Greg shouted.

‘Owe!’ John moaned.

‘My ears, Gregory,’ Mycroft sighed.

Greg grinned. ‘Sorry, sorry.’

The car stopped and Mycroft turned to John. ‘This is your stop, Dr Watson. Please have a lovely evening.’

‘Yeah, you too,’ John said, eyes catching the hand Lestrade had put in Mycroft’s lap. He smiled. ‘Call me John, please.’

Mycroft just smiled as Greg called out, ‘Have a lovely evening, Johnathan!’

John slammed the car door, much harder than was necessary, and wobbled up to 221B.

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

‘You’re drunk,’ Sherlock stated when John stumbled into 221B.

‘Yeah,’ John grinned. The alcohol had hit him suddenly in the car. ‘Hello to you too.’ He leaned up and kissed Sherlock, who had crossed the living room to stand before him. It was a sloppy kiss and Sherlock sniffed as he pulled back.

‘You reek of beer.’

‘And?’

‘Just thought I’d say it,’ Sherlock said. He leaned down and kissed John softly.

‘Sherlock?’

‘Mm?’

‘I’m ready.’

Sherlock pulled back slowly, his pale blue eyes locking on John’s hazel ones. ‘Excuse me?’

‘I’m ready to... ya know... let you... um...’ he petered off and grinned.

‘Oh,’ Sherlock said, catching on quickly. ‘I see.’

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and nuzzled his neck, fingers moving down to run along Sherlock’s arse.

‘Er, John?’

‘Yeah?’

‘We’re not doing this.’

‘Doing what?’

Sherlock sighed and pulled back to look at John once more. ‘We’re not doing this, not now, you’re drunk.’

‘Oh,’ John blinked, realising how his sentence must have sounded. ‘I didn’t mean now, I don’t wanna be drunk when we do that. I just thought I’d tell you.’

‘I see,’ Sherlock said and wrapped his arms back around John, pulling him close. ‘That was “a bit not good”, John.’

John smiled, remembering when he’d said that to Sherlock. He nestled his face in Sherlock’s chest.

‘Dinner, and we’ll see how it goes,’ John murmured.

‘Yes,’ Sherlock agreed.

They stood like that for a few minutes until Sherlock realised he was practically holding John up. He carried John up the stairs where he sat him on the bed. He pulled off John’s shoes, socks, pants, and jumper, leaving John in his t-shirt and boxers.

John smiled and fell back to hug one of their pillows, his eyes closed and his lips pulled into a smile.

‘Go to sleep, John,’ Sherlock said.

‘You coming?’ John asked drunkenly, sleepily.

‘I was going to play my violin for a while,’ Sherlock said, ‘I won’t if you would prefer.’

‘No,’ John mumbled, blinking slowly to look at Sherlock. ‘Can you play in here? For me?’

‘You want me to?’ John nodded and Sherlock smiled. He leaned down and kissed John before saying, ‘I’ll be back.’

He was gone a minute and came back holding his expensive violin. He sat on the edge of the bed and popped open the case, smiling.

‘I’ve been meaning to get a new case,’ he said as his nimble fingers trailed along the cracked wood and plastic. ‘This one is far too old.’

‘I’ll geh one for oo,’ John mumbled into the pillow. ‘Wah colour?’

Sherlock smiled, knowing John would never remember this conversation.

‘Green,’ he answered, ‘green would be lovely.’

‘I’ll geh it,’ John slurred and yawned, ‘and you... geh me... diary. Miss writing...’ he yawned again, ‘blogging sucks.’

Sherlock chuckled as he pulled out his violin and pressed it to his neck. ‘What colour?’

‘Gold,’ John murmured, ‘amber... orange... yellow... somethin’ like dat. I like those... colours.’

‘You do realise all those colours are relatively similar?’

John just stared at him stupidly and Sherlock smiled before he proceeded to play a soft, slow song, making John sigh and hum. Sherlock’s music filled the room and washed over John, making him reach out to touch his boyfriend. He smiled happily as his hand connected with Sherlock’s thigh and he pushed his face back into the pillow.

Sherlock continued to play, even when he heard John start to snore softly. He watched his boyfriend sleep as his fingers danced along the strings slowly, perfectly. The song drifted off at the end, slowly, and Sherlock lowered his violin to watch John.

The man looked so peaceful, so beautiful, and Sherlock found himself smiling. He felt a little... odd. While he wanted to take John very much, he didn’t want to ruin what they had. What if John hated it? What if John disliked what they did? If this ruined everything Sherlock would absolutely fall apart. He didn’t want to lose John ever, not his John.

But at the same time he wanted their relationship to move forward. He wanted John to feel what he felt every time they had sex. Sherlock wanted to make John lose control, to whither about beneath his body. He wanted it so badly it hurt.

He’d do it right, he decided. He’d make dinner and make it all romantic, for John. For _his_ John.

Sherlock placed is violin and bow in the battered case (he really did need a new one) and pushed it against the wall. He slipped off his dressing grown and turned to roll onto the bed beside John. He placed one arm over John’s sleeping body and chuckled when John shuffled about to press his face into Sherlock’s chest. He took a deep breath and sighed, happy to have Sherlock with him even in his sleep.

Sherlock watched John carefully, thinking about how much this man meant to him. He felt he’d never get enough of John; of watching him, smelling him, tasting him. Never. John was his and would be forever.

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

Gregory Lestrade groaned and then gasped loudly when the door to his office banged open. ‘Owe!’

‘Jesus!’ John Watson whined back.

‘Why are you shouting?’ Greg demanded.

‘Why are _you_ shouting?’ John sighed. He rubbed his eyes and fell to sit in the chair opposite Greg’s desk.

Greg was wearing sunglasses, indoors, and all the blinds in his office were shut. He winced and leaned forward on his desk, rubbing his face.

‘Rough night?’ John asked, quietly.

‘You have no idea,’ Greg moaned. ‘I convinced Mycroft I needed sex and... well, my arse hurts.’ John chuckled. ‘And my head, my body, _everything._ ’

‘We probably shouldn’t drink like that,’ John hissed and leaned back. ‘I was dead at the surgery.’

‘Yeah, I got called in early this morning for a robbery. Finished it up nicely in a few hours, though now I’m stuck doing paper work.’ He glared down at the papers on his desk, like they were responsible for his pain. ‘My head hurts.’

‘Mine too,’ John agreed. ‘I thought I’d get out of the flat; Sherlock’s being all smug ’cause he told me not to drink so much... bloody genius.’

Greg smiled hesitantly. ‘John, never let me drink like that again.’

‘Oh, I won’t. You’ll start calling me Johnathan again.’

With a chuckle, Greg removed his glasses to rub at his tired and red eyes. ‘Yeah, yeah; sorry.’

John shrugged and they lapsed into silence.

‘So, I told Sherlock I was ready,’ John said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Mm,’ John murmured. ‘He said he was fine with it, as long as I didn’t want to do it drunk. He was very adamant that we do it while sober.’

‘Yer, probably a good idea,’ Greg sighed. He sipped from the cup of water on his desk and groaned. ‘I need drugs.’

‘You’re a cop.’

‘Legal, not legal, whatever,’ Greg grunted, ‘my head is killing me and I still need to finish up this paper work.’ He ran his hands through his hair, spiking it up even more. ‘It’s good, John, that you told him. Though probably not good that you were drunk while you did it.’

‘Mm, Sherlock said it was “a bit not good”. But he was sweet about it, just put me to bed.’

‘I wish Mycroft had just put me to bed,’ Greg groaned. ‘I threw him on the bed.’

John chuckled. ‘Wanna get some lunch?’

‘If I eat I’ll die.’

‘If you don’t eat you’ll die,’ John pointed out.

Greg sighed and stood slowly, wincing. ‘Yeah, alright. Just something dry, though. And not too long, I gotta get back to this bastard paper work.’

John let him walk past and bumped a knee into Greg’s arse when he reached the door.

‘Oi!’ Greg protested.

John grinned. ‘Oh, sorry, accident.’

Greg glared at him, muttering about karma as they left the office.

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

The next day John was exhausted after a long shift at the surgery. He bid goodnight to Sarah and the others before hopping in a cab. He got out at 221B and yawned, stumbling up the stairs a bit.

He entered the flat and gasped. The place was lit with candles that smelled of roses and Sherlock was sitting on the couch, dressed in a nice suit and one of those purple silk shirts John absolutely fucking loved. John grinned at the dinner Sherlock had laid out; spaghetti and red wine, their special dish.

‘Hello,’ John said, shedding his jacket and crossing the living room. He noticed the blankets and pillows spread out before the tall windows, looking very inviting and comfy.

John leaned forward and kissed Sherlock softly as he fell to sit on the couch. Sherlock cupped John’s face tenderly and ran his lips all around John’s, making John shudder.

‘Dinner,’ Sherlock said and moved so he could pick up his fork.

They had fun eating and slurping, purposefully getting messy so they’d have to lick their lips. At one point John leant forward and licked the sauce away from Sherlock’s mouth, his tongue dabbing at the other man’s tentatively. He loved the taste of the sauce and wine and Sherlock... and... cigarettes?

‘You’ve been smoking,’ John murmured.

Sherlock looked sheepish. ‘I was... nervous.’

‘What about?’

‘This,’ Sherlock said and gestured around. There were rose scented candles on the table and John smiled.

‘This is so romantic, Sherlock; it’s perfect.’ He made a note to rub it Gregory Lestrade’s face the first chance he got. It seemed Sherlock did excel at romance after all.

‘Really?’ Sherlock asked.

John nodded and went back to eating his dinner, dripping it all over his face. Sherlock grinned.

Soon the food was gone (well John’s was, he’d been starving. But Sherlock had mostly stirred his around and gotten messy in the process) and Sherlock took John’s hand. He led him to the blankets he’d arranged, all brand new and bright red, smelling of roses.

‘Roses?’ John asked as they settled on the floor, John pressing his back into the pillows.

‘I like roses,’ Sherlock said and shrugged.

‘Well, now I do too.’

Sherlock smiled. He reached up and unbuttoned John’s shirt carefully, slowly, his nimble fingers moving at just the right pace. He kissed at John’s neck, running his lips across John’s sensitive spots, knowing exactly what turned John on. John really had to thank Greg Lestrade for suggesting he take Sherlock first; the DI was a genius.

Sherlock’s hand found its way onto John’s chest and rubbed gently, finding a nipple and twisting softly.

John moaned as Sherlock proceeded to lick at his neck and thumb his nipple, enjoying the gasps John was making. He sat up more to remove John’s shirt completely and made the man lay down so he could lick at his chest, his nipples, his abdomen.

‘Tell me if you want me to stop,’ Sherlock said, tongue darting into John’s bellybutton.

John giggled and said, ‘No, keep going.’ He put a hand to his mouth as Sherlock ran his fingers over John’s side, raising goose-bumps. ‘Stop touching my ticklish spots.’

Sherlock grinned evilly. ‘That is one request I cannot follow.’ He began touching and licking every ticklish spot John had, reducing the army doctor to a giggling mess. His erection continued to strain through his jeans and Sherlock ran a hand over it, making John moan.

‘Take off your shirt,’ John asked, eyes pleading.

Sherlock complied and pressed himself against John, both men enjoying the contact of skin-on-skin. Sherlock rubbed himself forward, his erection pressing against John’s. John smiled softly and ran his hands through Sherlock’s hair, enjoying the soft, dark curls.

‘I love you, Sherlock,’ John said as Sherlock bit at his neck, fingers curling softly around John’s arms.

‘I love you, John,’ Sherlock replied and rubbed his crotch against John’s thigh. ‘Pants?’

John nodded and Sherlock removed his shoes and socks, sliding John’s jeans off in one fluid motion. He kissed his way up John’s leg, staring at the ankle, enjoying the course hair that met his lips. He licked at John’s knee and moved all the way up, ending at his hip.

He continued to play with John’s nipples, softly, as he ran his tongue up to John’s underwear and licked at the edge where fabric met skin.

John moaned and bucked up, Sherlock moving to run his cheek along the bulge in John’s underwear.

‘You’re a tease,’ John moaned.

Sherlock smirked and began rubbing himself as he played with John through the thin fabric of his underwear.

‘Sherlock, please.’

‘Yes, John?’

‘Please touch me,’ John begged.

Sherlock smirked again and ran a finger along the top of John’s underwear. ‘Are you sure?’

‘You’ve done it before.’

‘This is different,’ Sherlock sat and sat up to look at John. His face was flushed, his pupils dilated, his lips bruised from kissing.

‘I know,’ John said and raised a hand to run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. ‘And you’re doing a fantastic job. But I love you and right now I need you to fucking touch me.’

With a smile and nod, Sherlock slipped John’s underwear off and started touching his throbbing cock softly, only enough to give John the feeling of being touched but not enough to put him over the edge.

He kissed at John’s cock softly, enjoying the warmth, the hardness, the taste, and John’s little moans and whimpers. He moved slowly and carefully, licking at every inch of John’s cock slowly, avoiding the tip.

‘Oh, Sherlock,’ John moaned and grabbed at his shoulder. He looked down and frowned. ‘Why are you still wearing pants?’

Sherlock chuckled and said, ‘Containing myself.’

‘Take them off.’

‘Yes, Doctor,’ Sherlock said. He leaned back and fiddled with his belt, John running a hand along his thigh. Sherlock fell onto his arse to get his trousers off and glared at John when he laughed. ‘Shut up,’ he said and kicked of his pants. He remained in his boxers and rubbed himself against John, the silk making the doctor squirm.

‘You said pants, not underwear,’ Sherlock teased and pulled himself atop John. He rubbed slowly, closing his eyes at the sensation.

John grabbed his hips and pulled softly, moaning as he leant up to capture Sherlock’s lips.

‘This has been wonderful, Sherlock, thank you.’

‘You are welcome,’ Sherlock said. ‘I can be romantic.’ He had that slight pouty look on his face, like he was upset that John had ever doubted him

John grinned and kissed it away. ‘Yes, you can be. Now take off your bloody boxers.’ Sherlock looked at him carefully and John added, ‘Please?’

Sherlock nodded and pulled himself up. He felt John’s hands on the elastic of his trunks and John pulled them down, enjoying the look of Sherlock wiggling to get them off completely. He leaned back onto John, their erections pressing together.

‘Oh, God,’ John moaned as Sherlock pushed himself forward lightly, their pre-come slicking their stomachs. ‘Fuck, Sherlock.’

‘I do my best,’ Sherlock grunted. John could tell he was slowly losing control. He’d loved lavishing attention on John and the doctor had also enjoyed it. But the sexual tension was building and building and one of them would have to make the first move.

John moved to grab his and Sherlock’s erections, using the pre-come to make the tugging easier. Sherlock moaned and his arms shook beside John, the pale scars evident in the soft light. John moved his other hand to run his index finger along the scars, feeling the bumps beneath his fingertip.

Sherlock froze and opened his eyes to watch John carefully. John continued to explore Sherlock’s mutilated forearm, eyes wide as he took in the damage. Usually he didn’t like to look; it was a reminder of Sherlock’s dark past, the habit he might fall back into if something ever pushed him too far.

But now he wanted to explore, he wanted to know. These scars were a part of Sherlock; he carried them every day. John wanted to carry them too. He wanted to help with the burden.

He dropped their dripping erections so he could explore Sherlock’s other forearm.

‘John...’ Sherlock warned, growing uncomfortable with John’s looking.

‘Shh,’ John whispered and kissed Sherlock softly, his fingers running over the scared skin. ‘I just want to know every part of you.’

‘That’s a horrible part of me,’ Sherlock confessed.

‘I know,’ John said, ‘but it’s still a part of you.’ As he said it, Sherlock’s right hand came up to touch at the bullet wound on John’s shoulder. The skin was scared and puckered, bumpy beneath Sherlock’s nimble fingers. ‘We’re both scared,’ John said.

‘Me on purpose,’ Sherlock murmured, ‘you because you were brave.’

‘You’ve stopped now, Sherlock,’ John said and moved to cup his face. ‘That’s brave.’

Sherlock just nodded, not agreeing, and John sighed.

‘Do you trust me?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock answered straight away.

‘Than trust me on this,’ John said. ‘You are brave, Sherlock Holmes; brave to stop the cutting and to live with it. Brave to be able to move on with your life, with me. Okay?’

Slowly, very slowly, Sherlock nodded.

‘Good,’ John said and reached for their erections again. Sherlock gasped at the sudden feel and trusted forward, sliding through John’s hand and onto his stomach. They continued like this for a minute before John felt himself begin to rise. He felt that heat in his body, the clenching of his stomach, so he dropped their erections quickly.

‘John?’ Sherlock questioned, blinking and looking down at his lover. His cheeks were pink; John adored that colour on Sherlock.

‘Erm, condoms,’ John said, ‘and lube.’

Sherlock smiled and kissed John swiftly before shuffling across the floor. John enjoyed a minute of watching Sherlock’s pale buttocks swing about as he grabbed something from under the couch. Sherlock turned and shuffled back, stopping beside John.

‘Enjoy the view?’ Sherlock asked.

John nodded. ‘Very, _very_ nice.’

Sherlock smiled and opened the white bag, overturning it on the blanket beside his lover. Out fell a new packet of condoms and a bottle of lube. John picked the lube up and turned to read the label.

‘Roses, Sherlock? Really?’

Sherlock blushed, the pink rushing to his ears. ‘I... I like roses.’

With a chuckle, John kissed him quickly. ‘Me too.’

Still blushing, Sherlock opened the condom box and fumbled with the little foil packet. He dropped it and found John reaching for it.

‘Let me,’ John said and tore it open. He leaned forward to roll the condom onto Sherlock’s erection, taking pleasure in the shiver Sherlock gave. He grabbed the lube and flipped it open, only to find Sherlock stopping him. ‘What?’

‘John, let me, please,’ Sherlock said. ‘Trust me.’

John nodded. ‘I trust you, Sherlock. With my mind, my body, my soul; everything.’

Sherlock grinned and kissed John softly as he poured lube onto his fingers. He moved forward and said, ‘Spread your legs a little, please.’

John complied and gasped as Sherlock ran his wet fingers along John’s entrance. John found himself bucking _into_ the contact, wanting Sherlock to go further.

‘Are you sure?’ Sherlock asked.

John nodded quickly.

Slowly, very, very slowly, Sherlock inserted a long finger into John’s arse. John gasped and pulled back slightly but Sherlock kept going until he was buried up to his knuckle. He stopped, then, letting John grow accustomed to the feeling.

John was so tight, so very tight; the tightest person Sherlock had ever felt. He was trying so very hard not to fuck John right there. He had to go slow, for his boyfriend.

John moaned softly. It was... it was different. Not unpleasant, just... there. He nodded at Sherlock and said, ‘Keep going.’

Sherlock removed his finger slowly before pushing it back in. He continued, John getting used to it after a few minutes.

‘Add... add another, please,’ John said.

Sherlock complied and now two fingers were pushing into John, stretching him, preparing him for Sherlock. John moaned and pushed down slightly, now enjoying what Sherlock was doing. It was... nice.

‘My... prostate,’ John gasped. ‘Please.’

Sherlock curled his fingers and they brushed gently against John’s prostate. Pleasure stabbed through the doctor’s body and he arched into Sherlock, pushing his fingers further in. ‘Oh... fuck.’

‘Are you okay?’ Sherlock asked quickly. ‘John?’

John managed to nod, his eyes watering slightly. ‘Keep... going, please, Sherlock... more.’

Sherlock pulled back and inserted another finger, fucking John slowly before curling to touch his prostate. John shivered violently and groaned, grabbing at his hair, his legs, Sherlock; anything.

Sherlock spread his fingers slightly and John gasped in pain. The sudden pressure wasn’t like before and he squeezed his eyes shut.

‘John?’

‘Hurts... a little,’ John said.

‘Do you want me to stop?’

The doctor shook his head. ‘N-no... keep... do it again.’

Sherlock did and once again John moaned, pain mixing with pleasure. He felt stretched, invaded, like somebody was... well, sticking their fingers in his arse. But he was well aware that it was Sherlock, and that Sherlock loved him. He was doing this for John’s own good; to prepare him for later.

Finally John could take no more and said, ‘Please, Sherlock, fuck me.’

‘Fuck you?’

‘Yes,’ John said. He bit his lips as Sherlock removed his fingers. The tall consulting detective grabbed the lube and lathered his penis.

‘Up,’ he said. When John gave him a confused look, Sherlock continued, ‘If you sit atop me you can control the speed and depth to which we... have sex. It’ll be better for you.’

‘Are you sure you don’t just want me to control you?’ John teased.

Sherlock blushed but smiled. ‘This is for your benefit, John.’

‘Sure, sure,’ John chuckled. He shifted himself up, wincing slightly as his arse hurt a little. But he smiled at Sherlock and said, ‘On your back.’

Sherlock dropped onto the blankets and moved a few pillows behind his head. He pulled his legs apart and looked at John.

John climbed over Sherlock and sat so their erections pressed together. He smiled at Sherlock and reached down to touch his condom-wrapped cock.

‘I love you, Sherlock.’

‘And I love you, John. Are you absolutely sure about this?’

‘Yes,’ John said. ‘I want you to fuck me.’

Sherlock nodded. ‘Very well.’ He made a movement with his hands, one that told John that the speed and how far they went was entirely up to him.

Shuffling further up, John pulled himself up and grabbed Sherlock’s cock. The head pressed against John’s arse and he gasped in anticipation, fear, and lust. He felt Sherlock’s hands close around his and smiled as his boyfriend gently guided his own cock in.

It was strange, at first, a bit more than Sherlock’s fingers. His cock was thicker and longer and stretched John as the doctor lowered himself. He went slowly, only allowing the tip of Sherlock’s cock to penetrate him. He stopped, growing accustomed to it. It didn’t hurt yet so he moved again, letting a little bit more in.

The pain was sharp and sudden, shooting through John’s lower body and making him wince.

‘John?’ Sherlock said, worry in his voice.

But the pain had gone as quickly as it had arrived, leaving John with a full feeling and the need for... more.

He pushed down quickly and Sherlock engulfed him completely. There was more pain but, like before, it disappeared. John blinked and smiled.

‘Are you okay?’ Sherlock asked, his voice growing needy. He had to know that John was okay, that what they were doing was okay and comfortable and safe.

‘Fine,’ John said. ‘Hurt a little but... not now.’

‘No?’ Sherlock asked, his face a mask of worry. ‘Are you sure?’

John replied by pulling himself up, just a little, and pushing back down. The pain was there again but accompanied by a nice, hot feeling that was spreading through John’s arse, to his groin, and into his stomach.

‘I’m sure,’ John said and smiled. He leaned forward to kiss Sherlock, making the man’s cock slide from him. John leaned back and it went back in. Pain, smaller than before, easier to ignore.

John continued these short movements, pulling up slowly before dropping back down. It hurt a little but the pain was getting easier and easier to manage with each thrust. Sherlock was holding John’s hips softly, the man’s pale blue eyes locked on John’s hazel ones. All John saw was love and need and lust. Sherlock loved him completely, cared about him completely. And John felt the same way.

‘I love you,’ John said, for what felt like the millionth time that night. But he needed Sherlock to understand; to know that John loved him so completely it hurt.

‘I love you too,’ Sherlock said, smiling. ‘Are you okay?’

John nodded and pulled himself up a bit more, about halfway up Sherlock’s length. He pushed himself down and groaned as pleasure mixed with the pain, his muscles relaxing around Sherlock’s hot cock. It was rubbing at all the right spots and as John pulled up again, almost losing Sherlock from him, he gasped. He dropped quickly and earned a beautiful stab at his prostate, pleasure coursing through his body like crazy.

‘Fuck,’ John moaned and Sherlock’s hands tightened on his hips. ‘Fuck, Sherlock.’

‘Good?’ Sherlock asked.

John nodded. ‘Mm hmm.’ He moved again so Sherlock was almost completely out of him before plunging down, loving the feel of Sherlock’s cock in his arse. He squeezed tighter around Sherlock and the consulting detective groaned, thrusting up. That made everything so much better and John stopped, gasping.

‘John?’ Sherlock questioned.

‘Please, Sherlock, I want you to fuck me,’ John whimpered.

‘What?’

‘Me, on my back, you, fuck me hard. Please, Sherlock, don’t make me beg.’

Sherlock was speechless for a moment. That John would adjust to this so quickly was fascinating and beautiful ( _store that information away for later, do not delete_ ). That John now wanted Sherlock to fuck him, _hard,_ made Sherlock’s cock even harder.

‘Are you sure?’ Sherlock asked.

John nodded quickly and leaned down to kiss Sherlock hard, his tongue raking over Sherlock’s and his teeth biting at Sherlock’s lips, sure to bruise. Suddenly Sherlock pushed John aside and was leaning over him, John on his back. He had slipped out and John made an annoyed noise before Sherlock was pushing back in, harder than before.

John gasped and groaned, the pleasure unbelievable. Why had he never done this before? Why had he felt so scared? At first it had hurt, and even now it felt slightly strange, but the feelings spreading through him were absolutely amazing.

John grabbed Sherlock’s arse and pulled him forward, whimpering. Sherlock thrust again, burying his cock deep into John’s tightness, his heat.

‘Oh, fuck,’ John groaned, his nails digging into Sherlock’s arse. It propelled Sherlock further and soon he was thrusting away strongly, solidly, bring mountains of pleasure to John Watson’s body.

‘Jesus... Christ,’ John gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip. ‘Sherlock... fuck... amazing.’

‘Really?’ Sherlock asked. He was still in control, still holding on, for John; for _his_ John.

‘Yes,’ John said and opened his eyes, aware that Sherlock had stopped. ‘What?’

‘I love you.’

John grinned. ‘I love you too.’ He leaned up and kissed Sherlock hard, raking his tongue along the taller man’s soft, full lips. ‘Now fuck me.’

Sherlock chuckled and pushed back in, John flinging his head back. Sherlock brought one hand up to stroke John, enjoying the withering man beneath him. Was there anything more beautiful than John looking sweaty, uncontrolled, and strung-out? No, there wasn’t. Because John was beautiful, and fabulous, and so very, very hot.

John’s moaning was getting louder, bordering on full-blown screaming. And this was because of Sherlock; _his_ Sherlock.

John grabbed Sherlock’s hips and pulled him in rougher and faster than before. Sherlock was losing control as his cock slipped in and out of John quickly, hitting his prostate and sending John so close to the edge.

Sherlock squeezed John’s cock tighter, running his thumb roughly over the tip. He felt John clamp around him, gasping, sweating, swearing. His eyes flashed open and he whimpered, ‘Fuck, Sherlock.’

‘John,’ Sherlock groaned and, somehow, angled his lithe body so he could fuck his boyfriend, stroke him, and kiss him all at once. John’s hands found their way into Sherlock’s hair, his lips bruising against his lover’s.

His gasps were shorter, rougher, coming in bursts and then John clamped down completely and shouted, ‘SHELOCK!’

He was coming all over Sherlock’s hand, over himself, and the sight of John losing control because of him, climaxing because of him, tipped Sherlock in the realm of oblivion. He came shockingly loudly, his body convulsing and thrusting madly into John’s.

Sherlock bit at John’s lips, hard, tasting sweat and John and wine and spaghetti sauce. He drove his tongue deep into John’s mouth as his climax rocked his body, turning his muscles to goo.

 They sat there, panting, shaking, kissing, looking. Sherlock’s eyes peeled open and he looked down at John. Pale blue met hazel and there was love, adoration, happiness, tiredness, and the general _need_ to just be with each other, forever and always.

Sherlock slipped out of John and fell sideways, panting heavily. He rubbed his eyes and a hand found Sherlock’s. He looked up to see John kiss his hands tiredly, smiling like a little boy on Christmas day.

‘Fuck, Sherlock,’ John said. ‘That was... we’ll be doing that a lot, believe me.’

Sherlock chuckled and rolled over so he could press himself against John. He felt his slick cock rub against John’s thigh but neither man cared.

‘I want to do that again and again and again–’

He was cut off by John kissing him softly, both of their lips aching. ‘Me too, Sherlock.’

Sherlock smiled and buried his head into John’s neck. He felt his eyes close and yawned.

‘Tired?’ John asked.

‘Mm,’ was Sherlock’s murmured response.

John chuckled. ‘Now I know what’ll get you to sleep.’

Sherlock grinned and nibbled at John’s neck. ‘Yes, sex before bedtime, quite acceptable.’

Yawning, John grabbed one of the blankets and managed to shift it about so they could cover up. ‘Sleepy,’ John said.

‘Go to bed, John,’ Sherlock said and kissed him. He rested his head on John’s chest, enjoying the warm and sweaty skin beneath him. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, Sherlock,’ John said.  Just before they both drifted to sleep, John murmured, ‘ _My_ Sherlock.’ They both fell asleep grinning.

 

 

-oOo-

 

 

It was early morning when John woke to find Sherlock wrapped around him... _smoking._

‘Just what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’

Sherlock had the decency to look guilty, but he still puffed on his cigarette. ‘Er... smoke after sex?’

John glared at him. ‘Sherlock, it’s bad for your health.’

‘I know,’ Sherlock pouted.

‘Then why do you do it?’ John asked.

Sherlock ashed into the coffee cup he was using as an ashtray. ‘I... I like it,’ he said.

John had a very painful flashback to when Sherlock had last said those words... the cutting, the blood, the scars on his arms. John started hyperventilating and Sherlock sat up quickly.

‘John, what is it? Are you okay?’

‘Cut-cutting,’ he gasped, ‘you said... you liked that... too.’

Sherlock realised immediately and squashed the cigarette out. He wrapped his arms around John.

‘I am so, so sorry, John. Please forgive me, I won’t ever do it again. Please, John, I’m sorry.’ He continued to hush John as the doctor got his breathing under control. Finally he turned to see a very hurt and worried Sherlock.

‘Fine... I’m fine.’

‘John, I’m sorry.’

‘No, it’s okay,’ John said and ran a hand over his eyes. ‘It’s... no, not your fault.’

Sherlock buried his head in John’s stomach, his favourite place besides hiding out in the bathroom. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ he mumbled, ‘my fault, all my fault, ruined everything.’

‘Sherlock...’ John sighed.

‘I ruined everything,’ Sherlock continued. ‘Absolutely everything, I always ruin it, I should go live in the bathroom.’

‘No you shouldn’t.’

‘Why not?’ Sherlock demanded.

Smiling, John ran a hand through Sherlock’s hair. ‘It’s too cold in the bathroom; impossible to have sex.’

Sherlock shifted so he could pout at John. ‘Is not.’

‘Oh?’

‘We could most definitely have sex in the bathroom. On the floor, the sink, in the shower, the bath... I have to make a list.’

John grinned and Sherlock glared at him.

‘Changing the subject, John.’

John leaned down and kissed him hotly, sweetly, passionately. Sherlock moaned into his mouth.

‘Yep, changing the subject,’ John chuckled, ‘and doing it well.’ He kissed Sherlock again, sliding his tongue into the other’s mouth, and found that he didn’t mind the cigarette taste. It was just another thing that seemed so... _Sherlock._ Not that John liked him smoking but if the man was going to there was little he could do.

‘Sherlock, you can smoke if you want,’ John said. ‘Just not too often, okay?’

Sherlock blinked before nodding.

‘Are you okay?’ Sherlock asked a few minutes later.

With a nod, John fell back to lay on the pillows, Sherlock directly beside him. ‘Yes. Bit sore, but otherwise okay.’

‘Good, I’m glad,’ Sherlock smiled.

There was a knock on the door and they cursed.

‘Ignore it,’ Sherlock whispered, ‘whoever it is will go away.’

‘ _I’m not going away, Sherlock_ ,’ came Mycroft Holmes’ voice from the other side of the door. ‘ _Whispering will not work either.’_

John groaned, knowing that Mycroft wouldn’t come all the way here just to leave straight away. He got up quickly and started dressing, rolling up the blankets to shove them in a corner as he zipped up his pants. Sherlock slid his underwear and trousers on, throwing the condom in the bin and the lube under the coach. He buttoned up his shirt as he pulled the door open.

‘Mycroft, annoying as usual,’ Sherlock glared.

Mycroft smiled politely and stepped into the flat, followed by Greg Lestrade. Greg smiled hesitantly and stood near the door as Sherlock closed it.

‘Why are you here?’ Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft had sat himself in John’s chair, which seemed to be _his_ chair every time he came over. ‘Do I need a reason to visit my bother?’

‘Yes,’ Sherlock said, ‘if you don’t have one, go away.’

‘I came to have breakfast,’ Mycroft said. ‘See, I can stay.’

‘That’s not a good reason, Mycroft,’ Sherlock growled.

‘You said it had to be a reason,’ Mycroft smirked, ‘not a good one.’

Sherlock fell to sit on the couch and folded his arms, glaring at his brother. Mycroft continued to smile.

John looked at Greg and said, ‘Er, tea?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

They went into the kitchen, leaving the Holmes brothers to bicker and glare.

‘I’m really sorry, John,’ Greg said as soon as they were alone. ‘I had no idea that you and Sherlock would be... well, I didn’t know. Sorry.’

‘That’s alright,’ John said, ‘Mycroft’s just here to tease Sherlock.’

He shuffled about making four cups of tea, figuring he might as well offer Mycroft one. Maybe then the man would have the sense to bloody well leave.

‘So, did you and Sherlock...?’ Greg asked as the water boiled.

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘Was it good?’ Greg asked.

John turned pink as he poured the water and accepted the sugar Greg had given him.

‘Yeah,’ John said, nodding quickly. ‘Bit painful but very, very good.’

Greg smiled. ‘I’m glad. One sugar for me, thanks; two for Mycroft.’

They carried the cups into the living room. John handed Mycroft his and the man accepted it with a smile.

‘You’ve ruined a perfectly good morning, Mycroft.’

‘Don’t be so dramatic, Sherlock,’ Mycroft sighed.

‘Me? I’m not the one who kidnaps people and gets all fancy with CCTV cameras.’

Mycroft’s smile widened. ‘That’s not being dramatic, Sherlock. That is simply showing a person what I am capable of. I find that the cloak-and-dagger routine instils people with the sensible feelings of fear and respect.’ He looked at John, who forced himself to smile. ‘See?’ Mycroft said to his brother.

‘John is just being polite,’ Sherlock huffed.

‘Exactly,’ Mycroft smirked and sipped his tea.

John fell to sit beside Sherlock and Greg sat on the arm rest beside Mycroft. They sat in silence for a few minutes until Sherlock turned to John and whispered, ‘I’m sorry he’s here.’

‘No worries,’ John whispered back. He turned his eyes away from Mycroft (who was looking at Greg) and continued, ‘I had a fantastic time, Sherlock. Nothing could ruin what we did last night.’

Sherlock blushed. ‘I like roses now more than lavender.’

John chuckled. ‘I thought you would. Later maybe we could...?’ John trailed off and looked at Sherlock.

With a smile, Sherlock nodded. ‘Definitely.’

‘So, how are you two doing?’ Mycroft asked, breaking their whispered conversation.

‘We’re fine, Mycroft,’ Sherlock glared, ‘and we’d be better if you weren’t here.’

Greg cleared his throat and said, ‘Mycroft, maybe we should go.’

‘Whatever for?’ Mycroft asked, as though he was genuinely curious as to how his presence could be anything but wonderful.

‘Well, they’re busy,’ Greg said and nodded at Sherlock and John.

‘I’m sure they’re not,’ Mycroft answered.

‘Well...’ Greg said slowly and placed his cup on the coffee table. He bent down to whisper in Mycroft’s ear.

Mycroft flushed red and cleared his throat. Suddenly he stood and said, ‘Gregory and I will be taking our leave.’

John grinned and Sherlock smirked as Mycroft followed Greg from the flat. John mouthed a “ _thank you_ ” to Greg as he stepped through the door. Greg just nodded.

Mycroft paused at the door. ‘It may just be my imagination,’ he said slowly, ‘but does anybody else smell roses?’ John blushed furiously, Sherlock glared at his brother, and Mycroft smirked evilly. ‘Have a lovely morning,’ he said and allowed Greg to drag him from the flat.

The door shut with a soft click and John groaned. Sherlock buried his face in John’s chest. ‘I am so very, very sorry.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ John said. ‘We’re alone now.’

Sherlock looked up at him, at his coy smile. ‘Really?’

‘Yep,’ John said and dragged Sherlock up. ‘That was fantastic and I wanna do it again.’

Sherlock chuckled as John dragged him upstairs. He stopped him at the door.

‘Sherlock?’

‘I love you, John. I always have and always will.’

John smiled and kissed Sherlock slowly, chastely. ‘And I love you.’

And then he pulled Sherlock into Sherlock’s old room and shut the door.

The smell of roses would linger in the flat for days to come.


End file.
